


ten questions for new year's eve

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, but like....i'm not really that sorry, shamelessly plotless and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: "We're alive. Let's live a little."A lonely Giles meets Jenny on New Year's Eve.





	ten questions for new year's eve

_10:04pm: how are you celebrating your new year’s eve?_

Giles had decided to ring in the New Year by getting plastered.

This was actually a well-thought-out idea, brought about by a few days of moping over Olivia’s departure, a few more days of moping over the fact that Olivia’s departure seems to indicate that he might spend the rest of his life without a friend his own age who wasn’t a college student or his Slayer, and a few days after that spent considering the fact that he might be having some kind of a midlife crisis, which was more than just a bit depressing. If he’d reached the middle of his life, shouldn’t he have accomplished something that would make him happy in the long-term? Or was that only reserved for people who weren’t duty-bound to help save the world?

Thus, Giles was sitting in the Espresso Pump, which served cheap beer and didn’t have an abundance of teenagers at this time of night, and was distantly watching the ball-dropping ceremony thing on television with the vague understanding that he should probably not be drinking alone at night but too much exhausted apathy to do anything about it.

“Happy bloody New Year,” he mumbled dismally, and took a long sip from his beer.

“Not exactly,” said a voice Giles looked up. A woman with long, dark hair gave him a small, amused smile from the next table over. “It’s, like, two hours to midnight. How drunk _are_ you, exactly?”

“Do you normally ask strangers this many questions?” Giles said irritably. “My life is in shambles. I’ll get as drunk as I want.”

The woman cocked her head, her smile suddenly sharp and almost angry. “I’d be surprised if your life is actually as bad as you seem to think it is,” she said, turning back to her coffee.

Startled and insulted, Giles turned in his chair. “You’d be _surprised—_ ” he echoed indignantly. The woman didn’t look up, but she stopped stirring her coffee, holding herself with a stillness that made it clear Giles had unnerved her. Feeling a wave of remorse that was possibly exacerbated by the alcohol, Giles added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be this dramatic to the nearest stranger, particularly when she could end up being a vampire.”

 _This_ got the woman to look up. Giles remembered, belatedly, that most people in Sunnydale didn’t know about vampires, but before he could stumble through some sort of cover-up, she said, “Come sit with me.”

* * *

 

_10:09pm: what’s your name?_

“Jenny,” said the woman. She was looking at Giles with a reflective interest. “And as it happens, my life is a little bit in shambles too at the moment, so I guess I can sympathize.” She tugged Giles’s beer away from him, taking a sip, and made a face. “Ugh. Why are you drinking this?”

“Hopelessness,” said Giles a bit dismally.

Jenny’s mouth twitched. “Wow,” she said. “You’re dramatic _and_ you’re drunk _._ You know that’s a safety hazard in this town, right?”

“Somewhat,” said Giles. “Possibly. Doesn’t really matter. Why’s your life in shambles?”

“Pretty personal question,” said Jenny lightly, but paused for a moment before saying, “Two years ago, I was slated to move here for—family business.” She said it in a way that hinted at more, but Giles was at least sober enough to recognize that it wasn’t a subject she wanted him to press. “But my teaching job here fell through, so I just flat-out refused to move. They ended up sending someone else to do the job I wouldn’t, and I found out two weeks ago that my cousin ended up dying here on that job. Killed by a vampire.”

Giles inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jenny shrugged, smiling bitterly. “Not a lot I can do about it now, I guess,” she said. “New year, new possibilities, new death on my conscience.”

“That’s a bit melodramatic,” Giles informed her.

“Says the guy telling everyone in a two-mile radius how much his life sucks,” said Jenny archly. “What, did your girlfriend dump you?”

“She wasn’t—”

“Oh, so there’s a _she?_ ”

“I want my drink back,” snapped Giles, tried to grab it from Jenny, and overbalanced thanks to a mixture of frustration and lingering inebriation, face-planting on the table. Pulling himself up, he added fiercely, “And I’m _not_ the sort of fellow who thinks his life is in shambles just because a woman leaves. It isn’t about the woman, it’s, it’s about—”

“You’re bleeding,” said Jenny quietly. Giles was startled into silence when she reached across the table, tracing his cheek with a finger. He felt a stinging pain near her touch. “I’m sorry. You’re drunk, and you’re obviously not gonna be all that tactful. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”  She laughed tiredly, letting her hand drop. “You know,” she said, “I’ve heard it said that it’s truth that hurts the worst.”

“I can attest to that,” said Giles tiredly, sitting down again.

“Tell me why your life sucks,” said Jenny. “I get the sense there’s a story behind it.”

Giles wanted to blame the alcohol for the honesty of his answer, but he suspected it had more to do with the fact that someone had _asked._ “I feel—responsible,” he said. “For many things—too many things—in this town. A woman I was seeing romantically, she found out about the supernatural aspects of my life, and she—was frightened. Overwhelmed. She left.”

“You a werewolf or something?” Jenny asked with a small half-smile.

Giles laughed tiredly. “Nothing like that,” he said. “I’m quite human, unfortunately.”

“I don’t know, I’d say that’s pretty fortunate,” said Jenny, taking a sip of coffee and scooting her chair around the table, positioning herself right next to Giles. “But you said _it isn’t about the woman,_ right?”

“It—” Giles exhaled, feeling suddenly very tired and very alone. “I was turned away by a calling I gave my life to,” he said. “It’s something I choose, now, but I still couldn’t abandon it even if I wanted to. And—it was something dangerous, and it frightened her, and it makes me very aware of the fact that there aren’t many who would choose to stay.”

Jenny considered this, staring quietly ahead. Then she said, “That’s a damn good reason to get drunk,” and slid his beer back across the table.

“I didn’t want to get drunk,” Giles retorted, and suddenly realized the truth in the statement. “I didn’t want to get drunk,” he said again. “I just—I don’t want to feel this desolate. I don’t know how I can make myself stop.”

Jenny’s face softened and she bit her lip, looking down. “Well, if you figure it out, let me know,” she said. “I came here to drink coffee, get wired, and start the new year off writing midnight programs to make myself feel better, but, uh, not feeling desolate sounds kind of good, too.”

“Programs?” Giles echoed.

Jenny smiled awkwardly at the tabletop. “I’m a technopagan,” she said.

“A what?”

“A computer witch,” said Jenny, and looked up, smiling a little. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, you never actually told me your name,” Jenny pointed out, almost gently. “And you’ve been pretty vague about your _calling._ ”

Giles blinked. “Good lord, am I _that_ inebriated?” he muttered to himself, but judging by Jenny’s giggle, he wasn’t quite as quiet as he’d meant to be. “It’s, um, Giles,” he said. “Rupert Giles, but most people call me Giles. Professionalism and all that.”

“Are you a teacher?” Jenny asked with visible interest.

“Sort of,” said Giles. “Librarian. Unemployed.”

“Oh.” Jenny winced. “Well. What do you want _me_ to call you, then?”

Something about her question touched Giles in a way he wasn’t sure how to articulate. “Rupert,” he said.

Jenny gave him a quirky smile. “Rupert,” she echoed. “Sounds very much like a dorky-sweet unemployed librarian.”

“Not a drunken disaster?” Giles quipped.

“You’re very self-deprecating,” Jenny informed him, taking a sip of her coffee. “I don’t think it’s all that healthy.”

* * *

 

_10:17pm: who’s the ex you remember the most right now?_

“Definitely Ethan Rayne, in college,” said Giles without thinking, and then winced, looking warily up at Jenny to see how she’d take the news. To his surprise, Jenny’s face had lit up, and she seemed to be trying very badly to hide an enormous smile behind her hand. “What on earth—”

“I’m bi too!” Jenny blurted out, and then laughed nervously. “Not—okay, it’s just—you know, it’s hard to—”

“Connect,” Giles finished, feeling very warmed by Jenny’s clear happiness.

Jenny bit her lip, still smiling stunningly bright. “Connect,” she echoed, blushing. Then, “Um, I prefer girls—generally,” she said, eyes flitting up to Giles’s, “I mean, you know, you meet the right person, sometimes it clicks, but most of the time I prefer girls, and I dated this one girl in college and it turned out she was just experimenting. I never really forgot about that.”

“Oh,” said Giles softly. “That’s—”

“Yeah.” Jenny made a face. “Wow, with my sorrows, _I_ should be the one getting drunk on cheap beer, not you.”

Giles laughed. Then he said, “You know, I’ve heard humor is a defense mechanism.”

“Definitely,” Jenny agreed. “Pass me that.” She didn’t wait for Giles to comply, reaching across the table and grabbing the beer to take another sip. “So,” she said. “This Ethan guy.”

“Not quite as much of a story there, I’m afraid,” said Giles, and found himself sort of meaning it. “We were in love, and then we weren’t. Just so happens that he isn’t all that ready to stop waltzing into my life and methodically attempting to fuck things up.”

“Oooh,” said Jenny. “Romantic.”

“God, I wish it were,” said Giles bitterly. “It’d be a damn sight more simple if we had feelings for each other beyond resentment at this juncture, but no, he just _has_ to bring his chaos magic into town every now and again to make some kind of a point.”

“Hey, at least you’ve got someone who still cares,” said Jenny, almost wistfully. “That’s good, right?”

Giles wasn’t sure what to say to that. “When my only options for companionship are faces from my past, it makes me uncomfortably aware of the fact that I don’t know how to find a happy future,” he said finally. “I don’t think—since long before I left England, I’ve not been able to find someone my own age who I can genuinely talk to, and I don’t want that person to be a dangerous chaos mage who made me happy twenty years ago but still pulls the same thoughtless, reckless stunts.”

Jenny considered this. Then she said, “Why are you still here, then? This doesn’t seem like your kind of town, and if there was somewhere you could go where you could find your type of person—”

“I have a responsibility to be here,” said Giles tiredly. “Something I can’t let go of just yet.”

Jenny bit her lip. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she said. “You’re stuck in a place that makes you feel unhappy and lonely? What kind of responsibility is worth any of that?”

“The fate of the world,” said Giles, more dismal than dramatic in his opinion, but Jenny smiled a little like she thought he was joking. “And—what about your responsibility, the one you turned down? Wasn’t it something important as well?”

Jenny’s smile faded. “Yeah,” she said. “But I would have ended up dead if I’d gone in with the limited information they gave me, so I’m still not sure how I feel about that one.”

“You said you felt responsible—”

“I can feel a lot of things,” said Jenny. “What I want to _be_ is alive, Rupert. What do you want?”

“Sometimes,” said Giles, “it feels as though _what I want_ isn’t as important as the greater good.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Jenny quietly, taking a sip of Giles’s beer. “But it doesn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

Giles looked up. “This,” he said. It was the first answer that came to him, and he ran with it. “Community. Companionship. To not feel so—horrifyingly alone.”

Jenny exhaled, putting Giles’s beer down, and closed her eyes for a moment. Her voice trembled when she said, “I don’t know how to get that kind of thing, either, so, so tell me when you figure it out, okay?”

Giles entertained, momentarily, the concept of telling her the whole truth. But she _was_ a stranger, even if they’d been having the first open, mostly-honest conversation he’d had with anyone in a very long time, and their strange connection seemed fragile and something that would only exist until the beer was finished or the clock struck twelve. He didn’t want to make this something concrete and real, not just yet. He wanted it to be something he could look back on, years later, as a strange, melancholy, calm spot in his life. “I will,” he said. It felt empty and not quite real.

* * *

 

_10:31pm: why aren’t you with friends on new year’s eve?_

Jenny flinched and didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” said Giles, “that was—” He exhaled. “Wish I could blame the alcohol,” he said finally.

“No, it’s—” Jenny looked up and smiled a little sadly. “It’s nice,” she said. “Talking to you, it’s nice. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anyone about, um, anything actually substantial, and that makes me kind of aware of how lonely I am sometimes, which is—” She laughed uncomfortably. “Kind of an overshare, right?”

“Not really,” said Giles. At Jenny’s raised eyebrow, “Well, yes, but I sympathize and I’ve told you nearly everything of value about myself in the span of about an hour. Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, I’ve heard.”

Jenny was looking at him in a thoughtful, appreciative way that made him feel suddenly shy. “Pretty apt,” she said. “And I doubt that you’ve told me _nearly everything of value_ about yourself. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to share easily.”

“Astute,” said Giles. “I’m not. This is, in fact, an incredibly unusual anomaly.”

“And you’re kind of drunk,” Jenny added helpfully.

“Sobering up,” Giles corrected her. “And if we’re playing invasive Twenty Questions with each other, I-I’d like to know why you’re here.” He looked up at her. “You’re very beautiful,” he said, half to himself. “It’s difficult to understand—”

“Why I’d be spending New Year’s Eve alone?” Jenny finished, and grinned. “That’s a pretty cheesy line there, England.”

“A bit,” Giles agreed. “Still gets the point across.”

Jenny’s smile faded a little. After a moment, she said, “I don’t want to go home to my family and deal with the guilt of refusing to help them, and I don’t want to go to parties with my old friends and talk about things that I don’t care about or cast spells just to feel alive and happy. I made a decision, and I’m alive, but—” She drew in a breath. “God, I don’t know what I’m _doing_ with my life,” she said. “If I’m the one alive, shouldn’t I be at least _doing_ something with it?”

Giles didn’t know what to say to that, it resonated so deeply with him. Quietly, he reached across the table, placing his hand over Jenny’s.

Her eyes fluttered quietly down to his hand. Then she said:

* * *

 

_10:32pm: do you want to get out of here?_

“What?”

Jenny smiled a little. “We’re alive,” she said. “Let’s live a little.”

“But—” Giles began, not sure why he was objecting.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I want this new year to begin with something that _isn’t_ us sitting in a coffee shop talking about how lost we feel,” said Jenny. “And I don’t know this town that well, except for the vampires, so why don’t we leave and find something to do?”

“I—don’t know,” said Giles, and he didn’t. It felt so ridiculously unlike him to immediately connect with a person like this; it frightened him. It made him feel like there had to be some sort of a catch.

“Rupert,” said Jenny, and gave him a small, amused smile. “I’m still going to like you when we step out of the coffee shop, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It wasn’t,” said Giles. It came out a bit too defensive. At Jenny’s raised eyebrow, he amended, “It wasn’t _all_ I was worried about.”

Jenny considered this, then she said, “Sitting on the sidelines thinking about how unfixable your life is, it’s safe, but nothing’s ever going to change. So why not come with me?”

Giles looked at Jenny. Before he really realized what he was doing, he said, softly, “All right,” and stood up, slipping his hand into Jenny’s. She gave him a surprised smile, as though she hadn’t actually expected him to agree, and he added, “I don’t know all that much about this town, either, so—”

“Don’t you _live_ here?” Jenny asked, pressing her free hand to her mouth in what seemed to be an attempt to laugh.

“Yes, well, I’m not exactly all that excellent at knowing what’s fun and what isn’t,” Giles answered with as much dignity as he could, “and—I mean this in the best possible way, Jenny, but you’re stunningly attractive and intuitive; I feel quite confident in saying that I have no idea what would interest you.”

The corner of Jenny’s mouth quirked upward. _“You_ interest me,” she said, squeezing his hand.

This took Giles aback. “Really?” he said, voice hitting a surprisingly high note.

Jenny laughed. “Is it _that_ surprising?” she said. “You just called me _stunningly attractive_ like you thought it would somehow offend me, you’re still eloquent even though you’re drunk—”

“I can hold my liquor, that’s all,” said Giles, who felt that now wasn’t the time to bring up that he had only had half of one cheap beer. “And I wouldn’t want you to take offense at what could be misconstrued as an unwanted romantic advance, or, or—”

“Not unwanted,” said Jenny, and squeezed his hand again, breaking their gaze in a strangely shy sort of way. Giles, stunned, smiled down at his shoes. “But I getcha. Now’s not exactly the time for us to be hitting on each other, is it?”

“Not just yet,” Giles agreed softly. “Um—would you like to just—walk?”

“Are there usually vampires this time of night?” Jenny inquired, grabbing her purse from her chair and slinging it gracefully over one shoulder as they exited the Espresso Pump.

“Well, yes, but also no,” said Giles, then laughed. “I’m sorry. That’s quite a confusing way to answer a rather straightforward question, isn’t it?” Jenny grinned, tucking her arm more securely into his. Giles felt—warm, and wonderfully frightened by it. “Vampires generally don’t frequent this area of town,” he answered. “It’s a bit too, um, suburban for them. They much prefer the area near the Bronze, and we’re a good distance away from there—”

“The Bronze?”

“The, um,” Giles winced, “place with actual alcohol.”

“Which you weren’t at because?” Jenny prompted teasingly.

Giles thought of the children—young adults, really—having a New Year’s celebration. “Didn’t want to put a damper on the actual party,” he answered, which was mostly true. Jenny gave him a curious look, but didn’t press the subject. He felt grateful for that. “So. There’s a park down the street, there’s my apartment two blocks over—”

“Ooh, forward,” said Jenny, batting her lashes. “I like that.” Giles stumbled on the curb. Jenny placed a hand on his chest, steadying him. “I’m kidding, England,” she reassured him, a laugh in her voice.

Surprised, Giles laughed. “All right,” he said, grateful that he hadn’t met Jenny back in his stammering high-school-librarian days; he’d have been putty in her hands back then. “I’ll save that sort of thing for tomorrow, then?”

Jenny shoved Giles’s chest, laughing too. “You know what?” she said. “I want some actual food. Not just coffee and beer, some _food._ I haven’t had anything to eat since I drove up from LA—”

“Good lord, why didn’t you _say_ so,” said Giles dramatically, lacing his fingers with Jenny’s and pulling her along. She yelped, surprised, and then laughed, stumbling along with him.

* * *

 

_10:59pm: what’s your favorite flavor?_

“Rainbow sherbet,” said Jenny decisively.

“Oh, god,” said Giles, pressing a hand to his temple. “That’s—that’s purely artificial. It’s not even founded in an actual flavor.”

“Exactly,” said Jenny happily. “It’s a representation of human creativity.”

“Are you just saying these things to upset me?”

“Actually, yes,” Jenny agreed, grinning, “you make it _way_ too easy.” She looked up at the amused server, adding, “Sorry about all this.”

“No worries,” said the girl, giggling. “You two take your time.”

Jenny pressed a finger to her chin, surveying the flavors. To Giles, she said, “How do you handle the fact that you live in a town where it’s only an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop that are open on New Year’s Eve?”

“Well, this town is infested with vampires,” answered Giles, who was trying to decide between vanilla and chocolate (he was a simple man, of simple tastes, and preferred his ice cream to _not_ be in Technicolor). “Businesses tend to close a bit early to account for the murders and the blood.”

“You seem remarkably nonchalant about something like that,” Jenny observed, sounding surprised. “And, uh,” she glanced over at the server, “you’re not weirded out by any of this?”

“Oh, we get a _lot_ of weird people with ice cream cravings this time of night,” the server answered lightly. “I’m just glad you’re not one of those people with the creepy teeth.”

“People adjust,” Giles said to Jenny. “I’ll have one scoop of vanilla—”

“ _No,_ ” said Jenny, sounding horrified. “You’re going to start your new year off with _vanilla?_ ”

“It’s an hour to the new year, isn’t it?” Giles countered. “I still have time to be—daring, or whatever it is you seem to want of me.”

“Rupert,” said Jenny, “if you want your new year to be anything exciting, you can’t just keep on doing the same old things on New Year’s Eve. Ordering vanilla is safe.”

Giles considered this. After a few moments of deliberation, he said, “Then I’ll buy _you_ a scoop of vanilla, and _you_ can start your new year off with something you wouldn’t normally do, just like me.”

Jenny opened her mouth, seemed to come to the realization that she couldn’t avoid the vanilla without avoiding self-contradiction, shut it, scowled at him, and said, “And one scoop of rainbow sherbet for you.”

The girl behind the counter giggled again as she scooped a cone of vanilla ice cream for Jenny. “You guys are cute,” she said. “How long have you been together?”

Giles felt himself turning scarlet. “Um—”

“Approximately fifty minutes,” said Jenny with an easy smile. Giles did the math, and realized with surprise that she was right. “And if I play my cards right, maybe a little bit longer.” She took the cone from the girl behind the counter. “Wow,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had vanilla.”

“I have _never_ ,” said Giles with distaste, _“ever,_ tried rainbow sherbet.”

“You’re kicking up a pretty big fuss considering that I could have had you trying bubblegum or butterscotch,” Jenny pointed out, taking Giles’s cone and handing it to him. Somehow, she managed all this without letting go of his hand or her own ice cream, a feat both Giles and the server very clearly found impressive. “C’mon. Live a little.”

“If you ask _me,_ I’d say ingesting brightly colored toxins is actually nudging me a bit closer to the grave,” muttered Giles, but took a tentative lick of the rainbow sherbet. It tasted…not intolerable, but he liked seeing Jenny laugh, so he said somewhat dramatically, “You’re right. I should have kicked up a bigger fuss— _then_ maybe you’d have had me try something that at least didn’t _taste_ like multiple colors. Did you know multiple colors had flavors? I certainly didn’t.”

Jenny _was_ laughing, in a breathlessly sweet way that made Giles’s theatrics feel more than worth the effort. “He’s so dramatic,” she informed the server between giggles, her hair falling into the vanilla ice cream.

Without really thinking about it, Giles let go of Jenny’s hand to push her hair out of her face. Jenny looked up, eyes bright and suddenly almost soft. “You have ice cream on your nose,” Giles observed shyly.

“And _you_ have ice cream on your glasses,” Jenny countered, pulling out her wallet. “So, um—”

“Oh, no, please,” said Giles. “My treat.”

* * *

 

_11:02pm: come here often?_

“Not frequently, no,” Giles confessed. Jenny had finished her ice cream at a terrifyingly speedy pace and had also somehow managed to steal his. “With my—job—there really isn’t enough time to go on moonlit walks in the park. Or _any_ walks in the park, really.”

“You keep on mentioning your _job,_ ” said Jenny carefully, eyes trained straight ahead. Her tongue darted out to lick at Giles’s ice cream before continuing, “Either you’re some kind of supernatural secret agent or you just _really_ like being secretive.”

Giles exhaled, stopping in front of an old fountain and looking up at the moon above them. Then he said, “It’s not something I commonly share with most, and it’s not something I want to put you at risk by divulging.”

Jenny didn’t say anything for so long that Giles was almost afraid he’d offended her. Just as he was about to turn and look at her, she said, “Is it something that puts _you_ at risk?”

The question startled Giles. “Well—yes,” he managed. “I—yes, it is, but—that’s not really relevant.”

“It’s your life,” said Jenny softly. “Isn’t that relevant?”

“You ask a lot of difficult questions,” said Giles finally.

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t think they’d be difficult to most people,” she said. “But, uh, these kinds of questions would be tough for me too.”

Something about that made Giles feel warm, even in the chilly night air. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, and Giles felt her head against his shoulder as she leaned into him. Thoughtfully, she added, “You want your ice cream back?”

“Heavens, no,” said Giles, and enjoyed Jenny’s musical laugh.

They were quiet, then, for a while, and it was a new kind of wonderful that Giles hadn’t felt since long before coming to Sunnydale. “What are the odds,” he said quietly, “that we’d meet?”

“Ooh, I like math,” said Jenny, taking a crunchy bite of the ice cream cone. “Um, ten thousand to one? Probably? Very dependent on me, to be sure. I mean, you were obviously planning to get wasted at the Espresso Pump, but I mostly just came here to mope quietly at a coffee shop for a few minutes and then drive back home.”

“Home?”

“Los Angeles,” said Jenny. “Though—I’m not really invested in anything there. Kinda sucks, to be honest.” She looked up. It was a bit darker, but in the moonlight, Giles could still clearly make out her face. “Maybe it’s kind of my version of your Sunnydale,” she said.

“Honestly?” Giles took Jenny’s hand in his, looking down at it, not quite sure how either of them found their way to this park or to each other. “My Sunnydale isn’t _quite_ intolerable, currently.”

Jenny stared at him, then started giggling.

“What?”

“It’s just so funny that you think that’s _smooth,_ ” she managed, and went back to giggling before popping the last of the ice cream cone into her mouth.

Giles blinked, then grinned. “I’ll count that as a win,” he said.

“Oh, it definitely isn’t.” Jenny patted his shoulder, wiping crumbs from her mouth, and shivered. “Say what you will about Sunnydale not being _intolerable_ ,” she muttered, hugging herself, “but at least Los Angeles isn’t this chilly at night.”

Without even having to think about it, Giles shrugged off his jacket, draping it neatly over Jenny’s shoulders. For the first time that night, he noticed how small she was; in his jacket, she looked positively tiny. But then she smiled up at him, and the moment was gone, because nothing in her eyes fit a timid woman. “You’re chivalrous,” she said, “but I don’t want you getting cold.”

“I’m British,” said Giles. “I grew up in the land of fog and rain. This sort of thing is like a sauna to me.” He tucked the jacket more securely around Jenny, and it didn’t escape him that she leaned a little into his hands (actually, he felt a rush of delighted butterflies in his stomach, but that was neither here nor there). “Would you perhaps like to go somewhere a bit warmer? Not to be, er, presumptuous, but my place _is_ near here. I could make us dinner.”

“That sounds…really nice,” said Jenny, hugging the jacket close and looking up at Giles with large brown eyes. _Oh, no,_ he thought, and the butterflies increased in intensity. “Yeah. Let’s go. Only I can’t hold your hand, because this jacket is super warm and I’m not moving out from under it.”

“Hold my—” Giles blushed, looking down.

“Did I ruin it by bringing attention to it?”

“Oh, um, no, not at all. Do feel free to—to hold my hand if—” Giles dared to look up at Jenny, and saw that her eyes were sparkling. “Good lord,” he said, “I need to get better at telling when you’re joking.”

“You really, really do,” Jenny agreed.

* * *

 

_11:13pm: how do you feel about midnight biscuits?_

“You’re asking me this _because?”_ asked Jenny from behind him, sounding thoroughly amused.

“Because,” said Giles, fumbling with the key in the lock (this bloody door could be _incredibly_ temperamental when it least suited him), “it just occurred to me that I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a very long while, and the children were over recently—”

“The _children?”_ Jenny echoed.

Giles looked up, startled, ran back what he’d just said, realized what it might sound like, and winced. “My apologies,” he said. “I realize that my words might have been misconstrued. I’m still in touch with a handful of my old students, and they occasionally stop by to visit. _And_ eat me out of house and home,” he added, twisting the key, which finally turned. “Aha!”

Jenny seemed satisfied with this answer. “That’s sweet,” she said, her hand lightly resting on Giles’s elbow. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and she laughed nervously. “Um. Sorry?”

“It’s fine, fine,” said Giles in a high voice, “just—this town, one can never be too careful.” He turned, and realized that Jenny had been standing right behind him, which put them quite close to each other. “Good lord,” he said, suddenly horrified, “I didn’t even think to check—for a pulse, you see—”

Jenny stared at him. Then she said, “How are you _not_ dead yet? It amazes me,” and took his hand in hers, holding it pointedly to her chest.

It took Giles a moment to realize what she was doing, and another moment to stop blushing and actually feel the flutter of her heart. “Ah,” he said. “So—”

Reaching up, Jenny pressed her free hand to his chest to check for a pulse, stepping in so that the toes of her shoes touched the toes of his. Giles was pretty sure his heart picked up, then, because he leaned back hard against the unlocked door and tumbled straight through, knocking both of them to the floor of his apartment.

“Okay,” said Jenny from above him. Giles’s glasses had been knocked off, so he couldn’t _quite_ make her out, but he could feel the weight of her on him before she rolled off of him and to the side. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Rupert, but how long has it been since your last girlfriend? You're _super_ jumpy.”

“Oh, thanks _ever_ so,” said Giles, pulling himself up. Jenny sat up too, tugging on his sleeve, and handed him his glasses when he turned to look at her. “Will biscuits do?”

“Definitely,” said Jenny, standing and hanging Giles’s jacket up on the nearby coat tree. “Aww, you have so much tweed! You weren’t kidding about the whole librarian thing, were you?”

Giles clambered awkwardly up from the floor, heading in the direction of the kitchen. “Tea?” he offered.

“Very British.” Jenny took off her own jacket, sitting down at the counter and resting her head on her elbows. “That’d be nice. Thanks.” As Giles poured the kettle, she added, “I gotta say, this is definitely not the way I saw my New Year’s Eve going.”

“You don’t usually start a conversation with a man attempting to drink himself into a stupor?” Giles quipped.

“I don’t usually end up meeting someone who I might actually like,” Jenny said. Giles dropped the container of tea as he was putting it away and had to fumble to pick it up. “What?” she said, amused. “Is the fact that I like you _seriously_ surprising to you?”

Giles turned, looking at Jenny. Her hair was mussed from the earlier tumble, and her smile was easy and honest. “It’s unusual,” he said, “that I make a genuine connection. It’s not something that I think has ever happened before.”

“Our lives are really sad,” said Jenny vehemently, which made Giles laugh aloud. “I’m serious!”

“Not _really_ sad, though,” said Giles, and found that the words had a strange ring of truth to them. “Not necessarily.” The kettle went off. “Oh, _good,_ ” he said happily, and took out a pair of mugs. “I’ll heat up the biscuits—do you mind pouring the tea?”

“Sure!” Jenny answered brightly, hopping off the stool and crossing into the kitchen. Picking up the kettle, she said, “This smells _really_ nice, by the way.”

“Imported,” said Giles as he took the biscuits out of the fridge. “Sort of. Brought them over from England four years back,” and that was when he realized that he’d accidentally brought out the special tea without even thinking about it. Something about that felt fitting for the night—an unexpectedly happy accident. “I do hope you enjoy it,” he said, placing the biscuits in the microwave.

“I bet I will,” Jenny agreed, taking a long sip from her mug and immediately wincing. “ _Fuck,_ that’s hot!” she said loudly.

“Yes, tea often is,” said Giles dryly as the microwave timer beeped. “Ah, and here are the biscuits— _try_ to exercise _some_ control, why don’t you?”

“Ha ha.” Jenny scowled at him, not very seriously, and took another sip of tea. She smiled a little. “This is nice,” she said.

“It _is_ my favorite tea—”

“Not just the tea,” said Jenny, taking one of the biscuits from the plate.

* * *

 

_11:38pm: have you ever gotten kissed on new year’s eve?_

“Once or twice,” Giles answered, not fully cognizant of why Jenny might be bringing this up. “Not very dramatic, really, but still. Nice kisses. What about you?”

Jenny didn’t answer. When Giles looked up, he saw that she was blushing a little. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d turn that one back around,” she said awkwardly.

“Oh, _no,_ ” said Giles laughingly, placing his mug of tea down on the coffee table and turning to face Jenny, “you _can’t_ tell me that you’ve never been kissed between the years?”

“You said it wasn’t very dramatic when you _do_ get kissed, anyway, so why does it matter?” said Jenny, whose blush was increasing in intensity. “And I’ve been kissed plenty on other days. Valentine’s Day—”

“ _Everyone_ gets kissed on Valentine’s Day,” Giles pointed out. “My mum gave out kisses on Valentine’s Day. Horribly mortifying, incidentally, and the whole point of a kiss on New Year’s is to signify happy beginnings. You’re telling me you’ve _never_ had one of those?”

“You didn’t bring up the happy-beginnings thing until you found out I’d never been kissed on New Year’s Eve!” Jenny objected. “And—” She exhaled, eyes bright. “And I’m a bigger fan of happy endings,” she said. “Much more so than happy beginnings, because—those can break bad pretty fast, a lot of the time.”

Giles looked at her for a very long time. Then he said, quietly:

* * *

 

_11:39pm: can i kiss you?_

Jenny’s lips parted, as though she knew the answer she wanted to give but wasn’t sure where to begin.

Giles was, for a moment, stunned by his own directness; all night, he’d found himself tentative, stumbling, shy, and now here he was outright asking Jenny if he could kiss her. “It’s not—it doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to,” he said, and kept himself a respectful distance from Jenny. He didn’t want to pressure her into anything. “But—what you said, about happy endings—if this is New Year’s Eve, maybe a New Year’s Eve kiss would mean a bit more. To you.”

“Make this year a little more salvageable.” Jenny was smiling.

“Yes,” said Giles.

“Would it be—right now?”

“No, um—let’s say twenty minutes from now, to make it—”

“Oh, come _on_ , Rupert,” said Jenny disbelievingly. “Haven’t you ever seen any movies? You kiss me at 11:59 and all we’re gonna get is one quick peck before it’s the New Year. How the hell is that a solidly happy ending? If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this _properly._ ”

“What on earth does that mean?”

Jenny placed a hand on the side of his face. “Endings,” she said, “beginnings, whatever, I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you being all dramatic in the Espresso Pump, and I’m sure not settling for some perfunctory little British kiss to end my year.”

Giles stared, indignant. “ _Perfunctory little British kiss?_ ”

“Can you do me anything better?” Jenny gave him a stunningly confident smile, very clearly a challenge that she seemed to think she had already won. “Because I’m getting the sense that—”

Giles kissed her. Hard.

Jenny inhaled sharply, a shocked sound mostly muffled by the intensity of the kiss, and cupped Giles’s face in her hands, kissing him back fiercely and without hesitation. Giles wound his arms around her waist, pulling her up and onto his lap, lost completely in the sense of _connection_ unlike anything he’d felt in such a very long time.

Jenny was the one to break away, and for a moment Giles was terrified that the moment would be gone. But then she was pressing her hands against his shoulders, kissing his neck and telling him, “You’d better _believe_ that I’m going to make this count if it’s supposed to salvage my year, Rupert, because I have had a _very_ hard year.”

And suddenly, Giles was laughing, because the whole concept seemed so ridiculous and so wonderful at the same time, something only two profoundly lonely people could come up with. Jenny raised her head, and he saw that she was giggling too, so he kissed her again—a simple, sweet brush of a kiss, something that spoke more of beginnings than endings in Giles’s opinion. “I’ll get us more tea,” he said.

Jenny was flushed, and looked happier than Giles had seen her all night. “I’d like that,” she said, and rested her forehead against his.

* * *

 

_11:59pm: how are you celebrating your new year’s eve?_

Giles kissed Jenny’s shoulder, feeling that same panicked fear run through him as she raised her eyes to his. After Olivia, after Ethan, even, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let himself care about someone again, to risk letting them down—

“You’re beautiful,” said Jenny, sounding almost vulnerable in her honesty, and pulled him to her, pressing her hands against his chest as she kissed him. The clock struck twelve.

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!! i was hoping i'd post this on new year's eve, but family shenanigans got in the way a bit so it's going up at 1am instead.


End file.
